Action!

It wasn’t my month. Hell, it wasn’t my year. Still worse, those who should have been supportive and helpful appeared to be destroying me. Looking back at that dark, stormy period, given hindsight and the perspective time provides I can say there was no evil intent. Instead, I suffered careless mistakes, miscommunications, and bad decisions – a string of horrible luck. It resembled the plight of someone who had offended a leprechaun.

For instance, don’t substitute sand for soap in the dishwasher. It will cost you a new dishwasher and new dishes. I also learned golf clubs don’t survive under the tires of a mini-van. One of the kids took the clubs from the garage, left them behind the van and I drove over them. Did your folks ever tell you to turn off the water? It is especially true for the bathtub. Someone left the faucet running in the upstairs tub. It overflowed ruining the floor, the downstairs ceiling, and the downstairs carpet. In these events, thankfully, no one was hurt. The only result was property destruction. Some items had sentimental value. However, given enough money and inconvenience, they were replaceable.

One incident, the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, involved bodily injury, specifically, my body. My wife, Teri, asked me to do her a favor. She found several antique furniture pieces she wanted to purchase. After handling all the transaction details, she asked me to pick-up the furniture with my truck.

The person who sold her the pieces lived in a rural area about eighty miles from our home. BFC – Bum Fuck Countryside – would probably be a better description. When I thought I was in the right general area, there were still one to two miles between properties. Due to some other things she asked me to do around the house, I got a late start. The roads were dirt and thanks to a week of wet weather and some underlying clay, quite slippery. It gets dark early in our part of the country, so adding the low clouds and spitting rain, it was pitch dark by five o’clock. Teri gave me a sheet with everything I needed to know – the people’s name, their address, phone number, and directions. These weren’t your typical directions. For example, the directions included ‘turn left after crossing the bridge where you will see ducks swimming in the water’ and ‘go past the pig barn with the orange tractor in front’. I kid you not. There were no street names. Not that it would have helped; BFC locals haven’t heard of road signs. The directions also lacked distances between the quaint landmarks and would have been as helpful written in Greek.

The rain turned into sleet leaving an opaque film on the windshield making it more difficult to see. The roads were a mess but at least they weren’t busy. I hadn’t seen a car in forty-five minutes. Most of the properties had bright sodium vapor lights, same basic idea as streetlights, but the distance between properties negated any illumination help they might have provided. It was gloomier than a bomb shelter. I knew I was lost. Three times, I turned around in driveways and three times the truck almost bogged in the mud. I stopped and called Teri, but there was no answer at home or on her cell. OK, now I’m pissed. No one answered at the furniture place either.

I decided to forge on for ten more minutes before turning around. After all, I am a man. I will not stoop to ask strangers for directions. About five minutes later, a dog or coyote crossed the road right in front of me. Worse, yet it was on a curve. Between the curve, sleet and clay, the truck agonizingly skidded off the road like the surface was ice, not mud, and my stomach hovered in my chest for what seemed like hours but in reality was only a second or two.

One hard jerk to the right and I sat at a forty-five degree angle toward the passenger side and the nose of the truck pointed slightly downward too. The shoulder belt, tight against my chest, held me in place. Right before the truck stopped, I felt an ugly crunch directly under my feet. After anchoring my feet on the floor, I unfastened the seatbelt and put my shoulder into opening the door. I heaved on the heavy pick-up door fighting gravity to open it. After reaching for the MagLite that lived in my truck, it fell into my fingers and I clicked it on. It worked! A child could easily have left it on and drained the batteries. Something finally had gone right. I jumped from the truck while the wind and cold sleet found something warm and dry to penetrate – first the truck and then me. On the first step, the muddy road attempted to steal the boots off my feet. Each step required I extract my new and now unrecognizable boots from the sucking muck; a great sucking sound accompanied each extraction. They felt like more anvils than mud-covered boots. Actually, wearing boots was the second best thing that went right in the last two minutes. The suction would have ripped any other footwear from my feet.

After slipping and sliding my way to the front of the truck, I saw the left tire was barely on the road while the right rested halfway down a steep rock embankment. I could see from the alignment of the front wheels that something was seriously wrong with the axle. It was no longer a straight line.

I stepped off the road and rested my left foot on a large flat rock about a foot below the road. Just as I bent at the waist to look under the truck my mud covered boot slipped off the rock. A couple of nasty things followed in rapid succession. When my foot slipped, I was completely off-balance. My momentum moved forward and down. I didn’t fall far. The grill of the truck stopped my face at the same time the bumper split my left collarbone. A blinding light exploded in my head and everything afterwards happened on instinct. The truck stopped my forward motion, but I was still falling. I reached to the ground with my right hand to ease my fall to the ground. I must have reached awkwardly. In sympathy with my truck axle, my right wrist crunched. It gave way at once and I lay still facedown on the muddy road.

I lay there for a few minutes. When I felt ready to move, I struggled to rise since neither arm really worked. I had to roll over onto my back to start. I could go on and on about losing the flashlight, the agony of getting my cell phone from my wet jeans pocket with a numb left arm and a useless right hand. Teri didn’t answer her phone and neither did my destination. I was so far out in BFC they didn’t have 911, not that I could tell anyone my location. However, I can give an extended description of walking two miles in one direction, before I turned around; and four miles in another, before I finally came to a farmhouse.

The final tally: fractured right wrist, broken left collarbone, badly bruised eye socket, concussion and pneumonia from wandering around for three hours in the cold rain. My truck got off easy – only a broken front-axle.

Before departing for the set ofDeliverance, I asked multiple times if Teri was sure about the information. As it turned out, there were two turns missing from the directions. I told her multiple times to make sure her cell phone was charged, on, with her and ready receive a call if I had trouble. In fact, I went further and said, “Hon, I’m sure everything is going to work this afternoon, but if it doesn’t you will owe me big time. I mean really big time.”

After rolling her eyes and asking what could go wrong, she put her arms around my neck pressed her pelvis into mine, “Anything you say dear. I’m quite confident this will be a piece of cake. I really appreciate you taking half of your weekend to do this for me. If it doesn’t go smoothly, I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I responded.

I spent two days recovering in the hospital, but it took only thirty pain-wracked seconds while waiting for medication to decide what I wanted. I spent the rest of the time planning. For the past couple of years I’ve been obsessed, about filming Teri and I having sex. I have tried everything to get her to go along. I told her, “I’ll make sure there are no faces or unflattering angles.” “We’ll watch it once and burn it.” “You like to watch us together in the mirror. The camera is only a mirror with a recorder, etc.”

Nothing convinced her. Next, I tried a couple of solo filming projects for her. When she was out of town, I filmed myself masturbating. At the same time, I spoke to the camera telling Teri what I’d like to do to her. I received many rewards following my outstanding amateur performances, but I did not achieve my ultimate objective. I want her, or her and me together on TV.

I love watching women, especially mine. The way I touch her. How it looks when I touch her. What she looks like when I touch her. What she looks like when she touches herself. What she looks like when she watches herself in a mirror. I’m much less interested in what I look like, but I think she’d be interested. How does my expression change when I enter her? What do her tits look like as touch them or mash them. I have as many unanswered questions as I have fantastic visions.

Maybe it’s because I’m blind without my contacts and can never see anything in bed. I feel the female shape is the ultimate work of art. I don’t need to be with them but my eyes constantly caress their curves. Professional dancers often evoke the graceful, sensual, erotic images, but they can’t replicate the pure sexual pleasure in their sounds or facial expressions. You need to remove the clothes to see the muscles, skin, color and sweat. Our minds envision scenes and create the finest paintings and sculptures featuring nudes. I was looking for the same but with skin on skin, my cock slurping through her juicy pussy and my thighs slapping hers.

About the same time as my accident, I received an extra large bonus at work. My company is in a popular field. Being a salesman for a product with more demand than supply led to a hefty commission. We took care of some things around the house with the windfall and funded a good portion of the kids’ college fund.

At the same time, I began researching video production companies that delivered a professional quality amateur video. Ultimately, a friend’s recommendation led me to Rainee and Charlene’s business, Couples United. They gave me an exhaustive run through of their operation and it had everything I wanted. Their company brought features to video production I didn’t know existed. Not to mention, I felt comfortable around them after about an hour. Comfort is important if you expect to be as exposed as Teri and I.

I set the filming appointment and scheduled an early dinner at a romantic Mediterranean restaurant for the same night. I told Teri the good news about the dinner. I also gave her the bad news the day of reckoning would come and she should prepare. With attitude, she said, “Bring it on. I made a deal, and I’ll live with it. You know the limits though.”

"What? Hold on. Limits? See this is why I wrote it in an email and sent it to you. I have it memorized so I don’t have to search for it, but you should feel free. Your commitment was ‘if everything didn’t go smoothly’ on the little furniture pick-up exercise, you would ‘do anything I say’. So which do you dispute? Are you suggesting the furniture pick-up went well? If the objective was to insert a metal plate in my cheek so I could pick-up radio stations in Cost Rica, then everything went fucking swell.”

I slowed and took a breath before I really lost it. ‘If I can get you to be honest and agree the furniture trip was a debacle, then ‘I will do anything you say’ is unambiguous.”

“You’re taking what I said out of context,” she retorted. She knew she was wrong but didn’t like where our conversation was heading.

“Then explain how I did that,” I challenged.

“I made a general statement you’ve turned into an absolute. I’m telling you, I won’t do absolutely anything. I’ll decide what I’m comfortable doing. Why do I suspect you want me to do something I don’t want to do?”

“Did I want to pick-up furniture or break my body into puzzle pieces?” I took another deep breath to dissipate my ferocity so I could diffuse the situation. “I’m disappointed you think I’d ask you to do something which would put you or our relationship at risk.” I decided to drop the discussion. Maybe surprising her would work better.

Several nights later, we dropped our kids at a friend’s house on one of our frequent child-sitting exchange programs. Teri knows I like to see as much of her body as possible and she delivered by wearing a tight fitting black dress with little spaghetti straps on her shoulders.

Heads turned as she strolled through the restaurant that provided romantic ambiance and served a wonderful meal. A quiet jazz band graced the stage set-up for weekend music. We actually did a little dancing, too. She always says she doesn’t dance enough these days. To my pleasant surprise, I discovered during the course of dancing there were no panties beneath the slinky dress. We shared a conspiratorial smile and my cock stirred automatically. She was very horny by the time the left and ready for me to take her home and satisfy her. Confusion replaced anticipation as we arrived at Couples United for our appointment.

“What is this place? Is it some kind of private club? It looks deserted." Teri wondered aloud as we walked toward the building.

“No,” I replied as we arrived at the front door. “This is where you satisfy your end of the bargain; the promise you made without reservation. You and I are making love tonight in this building while someone films us in a safe comfortable environment.”

"What are you talking about? No way am I doing this! You tricked me," she retorted becoming very upset.

“Stop! We’re going in the door. Then, we’ll sit in the reception area and talk this through.” I entered the code Rainee gave me into the electronic keypad at the door. We moved into the reception area, Teri’s anger visible in every step. We sat on the leather couch. A small table lamp illuminated the cozy windowless room. I sat on the couch next to her and took both of her hands in mine.

I knew I would have one chance at this dream in my lifetime. Hoping to magically exude charisma and persuade her to make my dream come true, I began. "I don’t do this out of anger, spite or revenge. Payback is usually hell, and it’s usually, because the harmed individual went through hell in the first place. I love to love you. I love to make love to you. I love to fuck you. Even though this is something you promised me or owe me, I don’t think you’ll find it painful. Ok, it may be a little uncomfortable at the beginning, but I sincerely believe by the end of the evening you’ll to say you enjoyed it.”

Seeing she was listening, I continued. “Look, it’s been a difficult year for both of us. I love you whether you fulfill this particular promise or not. I think you know this is important to me based on all the times I’ve discussed it with you. All I ask is you listen to the whole proposition. In some ways, we sacrifice some privacy, but at the same time, we gain so much more. Walking away tonight won’t hurt our relationship in any way. However, the experiences we share tonight will definitely bring us closer. Will you at least look at the entire proposal? Please. Think about how much you enjoy watching us in a mirror. It’s not too different.”

She never looked at me the entire time I talked. She simply nodded. I lifted her chin with my hand, so I could look in her eyes. "I love you," I said; my voice an emotion-wracked whisper. I tilted my head and kissed her, desperate to connect with her and re-ignite her fire at the same time. She refused to participate for a kiss or two but finally opened her mouth. Soon, the passion again shone through the clouds of reluctance. I grasped her breast and began massaging, gently tweaking her nipples.

She stood abruptly and said, "Let’s go." I swear I heard her mutter, “Before I lose my nerve.” We walked down several long corridors until we arrived at a room that looked like a movie stage complete with high-tech video equipment. There was a kitchen with an island and a dining alcove. A video camera about the size of a small boom box sat atop a wheeled tripod on the parquet floor of the kitchen. Next in line was a living room with several chairs, couches, lamps, tables, everything. There was a bedroom with a high 4-poster queen sized bed. Dim lights accented pieces of furniture or artwork on the walls.

The other trait distinguishing the room was the pornography displayed on several sixty-inch plasma monitors suspended from the ceiling and angled towards the viewer. The action and angles were awesome and the quality of the display was incredibly detailed. Each screen showed a different couple engaged in every variation of foreplay. I moved behind Teri and wound my arms around her waist resting beneath her breasts. I stood still at first, but my cock was coming to life. It wasn’t long before I was grinding against the shimmering dress covering her bare ass. She too began to move in time to the scenes above.

Rainee and Charlene walked from the production studio room and approached us. I turned and winked at them as I heard them approach. Rainee wore shorts and a t-shirt advertising some piece of video equipment while his sultry French wife wore a tight fitting red tank top; it struggled to contain her luscious swelling breasts. Teri turned around as I introduced everyone and shook hands. Rainee started, “Teri, I’m Rainee. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you. I see you’ve been watching the video. What do you think of our work?”

Clearly uncomfortable with the situation, Teri glanced at the video screen before replying, "The picture quality is astounding. I don’t watch much porn, just occasionally with him, but I think a couple of things make it better. First, less is more. Give me fewer fake moans and orgasms, less silicone and no guys jacking off. Real is better. Give me real sex sounds of bodies and voices. The participants should be attractive. They don’t have to be models or Barbie and Ken. In fact, it’s better if they aren’t. I want someone within the normal height-to-weight ratio and an attractive face. That’s about it. No. No, one more thing; give me a spark. Those two are good looking individually and they look beautiful together. I can feel a spark between them. That adds a crucial element, at least for a woman.”

“Thank you very much, Teri. That is exactly what we try to achieve. You’re too kind about the couple, though." Charlene answered smiling at Rainee while taking his hand.

"She's a hottie isn’t she?" Rainee responded. Teri looked at me in confusion. I told Teri that Rainee and Charlene were the couple in the video. Teri craned her neck around to look at the screen and again to the couple in front of us, confusion written on her face. “No way!” She exclaimed. “It doesn’t look like you.”

The pair fucking with wild abandon on the screen had much darker complexions and dark hair while Rainee and Charlene had light skin with blonde and auburn hair, respectively. Charlene and I shared a laugh while Rainee beamed proudly like someone who had just won first prize at the county fair. He pulled a remote control from his pocket and clicked a button. “Now what do you see?” Rainee asked. When Teri looked at the screen again, her shock was obvious as her jaw dropped and she blushed crimson. The couple on the screen was Rainee and Charlene.

I began to fill in the gaps for Teri. “Rainee grew up loving three things – computers, video and sex. He later added Charlene to the mix, and all the ingredients clicked. He invented a way to easily manipulate video images. After the proper pre-programming and a couple of clicks on the remote control, the guy in the video can have a beard. Another couple of clicks and the woman can lose twenty pounds while adding a cup size. He can even substitute faces. If Charlene gets tired of watching herself get it on with Rainee, she can throw Brad Pitt’s face on his body on the screen or my face. Heck, she can substitute Jennifer Anniston’s face over her own. I could be doing Jenn, but it would really be Charlene and Rainee. It can get confusing, but it doesn’t stop there. If you don’t like the view, you can switch angles.” On cue, Rainee switched the camera viewpoint from the left side of the bed to the right.